When Dickens came to America in 1842, he visited the charitable institutions of Boston, Massachusetts, and of them wrote in his “American Notes”: “I sincerely believe that the Public Institutions and Charities of Boston are as nearly perfect, as the most considerate wisdom, benevolence, and humanity can make them. I never in my life was more affected by the contemplation of happiness, under circumstances of privation and bereavements, than in my visits to these establishments.”
In this connection he writes of the creation of such institutions through wills:
“The maxim that ‘out of evil cometh good,’ is strongly illustrated by these establishments at home; as the records of the Prerogative Office in Doctors’ Commons can abundantly prove. Some immensely rich old gentleman or lady, surrounded by needy relatives, makes, upon a low average, a will a-week. The old gentleman or lady, never very remarkable in the best of times for good temper, is full of aches and pains from head to foot; full of fancies and caprices; full of spleen, distrust, suspicion, and dislike. To cancel old wills, and invent new ones, is at last the sole business of such a testator’s existence; and relations and friends (some of whom have been bred up distinctly to inherit a large share of the property and have been, from their cradles, especially disqualified from devoting themselves to any useful pursuit, on that account) are so often and so unexpectedly and summarily cut off, and reinstated, and cut off again, that the whole family, down to the remotest cousin, is kept in a perpetual fever. At length it becomes plain that the old lady or gentleman has not long to live; and the plainer this becomes, the more clearly the old lady or gentleman perceives that everybody is in a conspiracy against their poor old dying relative; wherefore the old lady or gentleman makes another last will—positively the last this time—conceals the same in a china teapot, and expires next day. Then it turns out, that the whole of the real and personal estate is divided between half-a-dozen charities; and that the dead and gone testator has in pure spite helped to do a great deal of good at the cost of an immense amount of evil passion and misery.”
The Cloak and Earring of Charles I.
On the morning of January 30th, 1649, Charles I. rose early and for some time remained in prayer and meditation; he was then taken to Whitehall for execution, accompanied by his faithful Confessor, William Juxon, Bishop of London. On the scaffold with him were Colonel Hacker, another officer, and two men disguised with masks; though heard by few, the King addressed the vast crowd in the following words: “For the people, truly, I desire their liberty and freedom as much as any body whosoever, but I must tell you that their liberty and their freedom consists in having of government those laws by which their life and their goods may be most their own. It is not for having share in Government, Sirs; that is nothing pertaining to them; a subject and a sovereign are clean different things, and therefore until you do that, I mean that you do put the people in that liberty as I say, certainly they will never enjoy themselves.”
He made a last profession of faith and gathered his hair under his cap; then took off his cloak and George and gave them to Bishop Juxon with one word, “Remember.” He then took from his left ear a large pearl earring and formally bequeathed it to one of his faithful followers; it is still preserved and is now owned by the Duke of Portland. It is pear-shaped, about five-eighths of an inch long and mounted with a gold top, and has a hook to pass through the ear. He then laid himself down on the block, breathed a short prayer, and stretched forth his hands, the appointed signal for the executioner, who performed his duty well, for the head of the King was severed by one blow and it was held up to the view of the crowd, which answered with a fearful groan.
Masculine earrings were formerly quite common: Sir Walter Raleigh wore one, and so did Horace Walpole, and the Earl of Southampton; Shakespeare indulged the same taste. In modern times such male finery has been largely relegated to sailors, gypsies and negroes.
Exhortation to Condemned Prisoners
Robert Dowe of St. Sepulchre, London, in his lifetime, on the 8th of May, 1705, gave £50 to the end that the vicar and church-wardens of that parish should, forever, previously to every execution at Newgate, cause a bell to be tolled, and certain words to be delivered to the prisoners ordered for execution, in the form and manner specified in the terms of his gift, as set forth in the old will book.
An annual sum of £1 6s. 8d. in respect of this gift was charged upon the parish estate in West Smithfield; it was paid to the sexton, who employed a person to go to Newgate on the night previous to every execution, where he offered to perform the prescribed duty, which was always declined, as all needful services of that kind were performed within the prison.